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“Hello, I’m here to see Daddy.” The tiny voice whispers through the intercom.
Alfred is not amused. He’s not surprised either, knowing the evergrowing adoption addiction his ward has. To his side, Tim and Jason share his sentiment.
“May I ask who your father is?” Alfred asks.
“Do you know him? He has dark hair and blue eyes.”
Unfortunately, that does not narrow it down as Bruce has the excellent ability of adopting children that look just like him. It was a day of celebration when Cassandra came to them, as he had at least let go of the blue eyes.
The child sounds young, and thanks to the camera they can see the mop of dark brown curly hair on a very tiny head. Alfred estimates he’s at least six years old. A quick scan of his family’s activities around seven years ago makes it easier to try to decipher who he could be an off-spring of.
The boy is looking for the father so that rules out the girls and Tim was only twelve. Jason was, well, dead. Richard and Bruce were mourning and while Bruce may have had some nightly escapades he trusts his ward to be exceptionally strict with pregnancy prevention methods. As for Richard, he was taught by Bruce and, though maybe not impossible, it is highly unlikely.
What Alfred cannot do is rule out other methods to acquire a child, citing Conner Kent as a first example and Bart Allen as second.
“Alfred, what is taking so long?” Bruce makes his way to the door.
“Old man, did you forget a wrapper a few years ago?” He points at the screen and Tim snorts. Glad at least the boys are having fun.
Bruce walks to the front and examines the expectant face of the child. After a few seconds he nods and presses the button to open up the gates, the boy smiles brightly and runs for the door.
“Woah, Mr. Broody and Paranoid is letting the random kid in?” Jason quips at Bruce.
Calculating eyes flow through the small crowd. “This is private property, the child managed to pass both security checkpoints and pressed the intercom of the second gate without being picked up by the cameras.” He raises his chin. “I am interested.”
Silence reigns until there’s a soft knock on the door.
“I shall make food, then.”
The boy is on the smaller side, definitely smart and most certainly didn’t lie about looking for his father.
Bruce sent for Cass immediately, as having an expert on expressions would be perfect for the occasion, but the girl is still a while out so he will have to do.
There’s nothing particular about the boy, plain brown hair and soft features adorning his brown eyes. He does have to admit, he has some sort of Wayne air.
Jason and Tim study the kid with intensity, probably having come to the same conclusion as him. The boys look at Peter, as he has introduced himself, as he finishes his chocolate milk in one go.
He looks dirty, ratty old clothes and dust all over his frame. A bath should be a priority, but the boy's stomach rumbled just as soon as he got inside.
“Thank you, Mr. Alfred. I was hungry.” He munches on a cookie.
“How polite. You’re welcome, Master Peter.” The boy giggles.
Alfred's quiet approval shakes the room, Peter unaware of the title he has already been given not even ten minutes in. The old butler must see something they’re still missing.
“I’m no Master, Mr. Alfred.” He giggles again, the sound taking him back to the early days in his journey to parenthood.
“We shall see.” The butler says.
They wait until he cleans the plates, Peter swinging his legs on the chair, his backpack still hanging from his shoulders. The others sit around him.
“So, Peter.” Tim starts and Peter’s immediate attention is on him. “Who did you say you were looking for?”
“I’m looking for Daddy.” The boy says like it’s obvious.
“And who is that, kid?” Jason chimes in, brash on his approach but never unkind.
“You know, blue hair and blue eyes. Very smart, brave and athletic! That’s important.” Peter starts describing. “The paper said he lived here.” He shrugs.
“May I see that?” Bruce asks and the boy complies.
Peter takes off his backpack and opens it slowly, taking out a bunch of wrinkled newspaper articles. He gives Bruce one, pointing at a picture of his family but at no one in particular. The title says Wayne Family hosts gala at Wayne Manor for the first time in decades, followed by the description of the night.
“They said he lives here so I came.”
“That’s… not very informative, Peter.” He passes the newspaper to Jason and Tim pushes to grab it first. He lets them fight over it while he talks to Peter. “How did you know where to go?”
“I asked around and followed the directions! I’m very good at going to places.” He explains like it’s nothing.
“Where did you come from, kid?” Jason asks.
“Mmm…” He thinks before rattling the name of the street. “That’s what it said in the sign.”
Bruce's heart stops for a millisecond.
“Holy shit, did you come all the way from the Bowery?” Jason’s incredulity can be heard.
“Peter, did you walk here?” Tim is not behind.
“I took the bus.” Peter shrugs.
“Oh, I’m gonna throw up.” Jason whispers out. It’s difficult to imagine a six year old walking all the way to the Manor by himself for who knows how long. “How long did it take you?”
“A while.” Peter says, solemn.
“Please, eat more.” Alfred’s calm voice almost scares them, thankfully they're almost used to it by now. “We have food to spare.” Bruce doesn't doubt his surrogate father is slightly horrified by the circumstances.
“The food is very nice, Mr. Alfred. Did you make it?” The little boy asks.
“I most certainly did, young Master. I am in charge of all the meals at Wayne Manor.” Alfred says with pride.
“That’s very nice. You cook better than my aunt, but don’t tell her that.” He puts his finger in front of his mouth in a shh motion while he smiles.
Bingo.
“Your aunt made all your meals?” Bruce asks with interest.
“Yes, because Mommy and Daddy were gone.” He seems to think hard about something and then looks over at Jason, seeming to find his answer. “Then Uncle Ben was gone, too, and she cooked even more! I think that’s how it was.” He doesn’t sound fully sure.
This has the present family in heavy confusion for a little bit. Jason takes the reins when no one seems to know what to say.
“I’m very sorry they were gone, Peter.” Bruce will always be pleasantly surprised how well his son is with children. “Didn’t you say you were looking for your Daddy? How, if he’s gone?”
That’s something to worry about. Is Peter just a confused child who thought one of them was his long-dead father or maybe his aunt conjured the story just to keep the truth away from him?
“No, no.” Peter says with all the seriousness of the world. “I thought Daddy was gone but he’s in the paper!” He points at the almost forgotten newspaper. “Maybe this Mommy is not gone, too.” He smiles with sparks in his eyes and suddenly Jason gasps.
“Holy shit.”
“Jason!” Bruce chastises as Tim snorts from behind.
Jason takes some steps until he's right in front of Peter, face to face. Bruce awaits for the discovery, something that hasn’t clicked in his mind yet but apparently has in his son’s. Seconds later has Jason grabbing the kid by his armpits, always gentle while he takes off the backpack, and striding to the living room stairs. He follows much like the others as Jason stops in front of a very particular portrait in the middle of the stairwell. Peter doesn’t make a sound.
He puts Peter right next to the first ever portrait of Dick and the world stops for a second.
“See? I knew I’d seen that dumb smile somewhere else.”
Bruce has a grandson.
“Don’t call your nephew’s smile dumb.” He says almost immediately.
“I like smiling.” Peter pouts.
“Your dad’s smile is dumb, not yours.” Jason teases.
“But if I have his smile then it’s dumb, too!”
“No, no. Your dad is dumb which makes his smile dumb, you are adorable so your smile is adorable.”
Peter seems to think about it for a bit and then nods.
“Okay.” He wiggles in Jason’s arms. “Can you put me down?”
Jason does and Peter runs past them back to the kitchen where Alfred is surely already waiting with more food.
Bruce stays stunned while Tim places a hand on his shoulder. He thinks he can hear Jason trying not to laugh, Tim is also fighting a smile.
“We should be more concerned.” Bruce points out.
“We should, but have you thought that this is also very funny.” Tim gives his piece.
“Dick is going to have a heart attack.” Jason says.
“He could've been cloned.” Tim shrugs.
“That does not make it better.” Bruce sighs. They’ll have to launch a full investigation to get back to where Peter came from. They will also have to subject the kid to medical exams and DNA tests and who knows what else, depending on what or who he is.
The endless possibilities of what could have happened have Bruce hoping it was the one night stand kind of problem and not something else, while also preparing for the worst. They’ll have to have him watched until they get answers, but the family was already on it as soon as he stepped foot inside.
The problem is what they’re going to tell Dick.
“Has anyone thought of Damian yet?” Tim smirks.
Scratch that, he dreads the conversation with Damian when he gets back from visiting his mother.
Peter wakes up in a tub. The scientific large tub, not the bathtub.
It’s a little fun, but he has places to go (he thinks, it’s harder to think now) so he breaks the glass and tries to start exploring.
It's hard and he feels sticky but in the end manages to get himself fully out and grabs some scraps of fabric to clean all the goo that stuck to his clothes and body.
Tiny body. He doesn't think he remembers how it is to be a child, but it's certainly inconvenient.
It's hard to think, really. He knows he's forgetting things, his memories feel blurry but still there.
There's a hole in his chest, the metaphorical kind. He's lost someone and should find them. A woman, perhaps. Kind eyes and flowy hair.
His feet take him everywhere in the place. It looks abandoned, it smells disgusting. The goo didn't, though.
There's other tubs on the other side of the room, they look unbroken and are empty. No lights or electricity, it's cold and creepy but he can see very well.
Like always.
There's pictures everywhere, different people and different names. Couples, maybe. Men and women, some men with other men, and women with other women, then it's a little kid next to each group who looks just like them.
Peter looks through the images. Thick dark hair on a woman's head and beautiful blue eyes next to another dark haired blue-eyed man much paler than her. A woman with darker skin and green eyes next to the same blue-eyed woman from before. Several couples just like that, with kids like them. All marked as failure.
It's sickening.
His eyes trail back to the tub he came from, there's pictures nearby. He hurries there and looks through them.
A black haired man with ocean blue eyes and next to him there's a freckled man with bright orange hair. Their kid is a photo of Peter.
Soulless eyes and tired expression, labeled as a failure like the other kids.
He's certain he's not a failure, as he walks and thinks like usual. Though he feels like the usual is no more.
The photo is of when he was six years old. Too old to be five, and lacking the scar on his forehead from when he fell on his bike when he was seven. He doesn't really know how he's certain of his future look or why it is important.
He's not a failure so he goes back to the pictures of the men. Those are his parents, no doubt about that. The man with dark hair is a distant memory on Peter's head, big hugs and smiles, and deep sadness at his departure. The redhead has warmth, fun games, and a sense of emptiness without his presence. Dad, the first man, Mom, the second one.
The woman in Peter's memories is the same as the man in the photo. He doesn't question it, not really. His parents are different, but hopefully the same.
He should find them, Dad and Papa. Maybe.
He wonders if they'll like him. Peter has a heavy burden on his shoulders, and his conception might not be desirable.
Hopefully they won't be mean about it.
He doesn't think he's in the right place. In any way, he knows he can't go back.
His memory is fuzzy, he remembers a lot and nothing at all.
One thing is certain, he misses his parents. All of them, the first set and the second one that are only distant in his mind.
Might he not know a lot at the moment, but he knows he's good at finding a way.
Peter reads his file, as there's one next to every tub. No name for him, only a number. He's glad he remembers the name he was given. A bunch of words he can't make out as he is right now, a basic data entry with his height and weight and the like. Irrelevant.
Mutation, it says at the very bottom. The redhead’s picture highlighted. He knows he's mutated, never doubting it. He got it from his Papa this time, it seems.
He turns around and looks for something that might hint who his parents are. The desks look like a good option to search.
There's several newspapers on the table. Rummaging through them he finally finds one with his dad on the front page. A family picture. Wayne Manor, it says.
It had crossed his mind that maybe his parents weren't alive, just like before, but the newspaper picture features an older looking Dad.
There's only hope, right?
Now he has a destination, it seems. He hopes he won't be disappointed.
Peter goes once more though the facility. He grabs what could help him make the journey. If it's cold in there it might be worse outside, so he grabs a thin coat he finds and puts it on. Whatever’s left of the goo has dried but his clothes are still uncomfortable.
Hidden in a corner he sees a backpack and without hesitation he cleans it as best he can and fills it with the newspaper, his file and the pictures he can find. The backpack is tiny, so he can't put more than that even if he has the impulse of collecting as much evidence as he can.
Once he's done he feels inexplicably tired. He didn't use to feel like that. Peter was strong and fast, he thinks.
His footsteps are small, his pace is worse. It's going to take a while to make it but he's never backed down from a challenge.
He gets out following the exit signs. It's a little odd to have them for what seems like a highly illegal human experimentation facility, but he guesses it's not unwanted in case of an emergency. If it ever happens.
Peter passes through a hallway and ends right next to elevators that don't work, he tries but the electricity doesn't magically reappear.
He keeps following the signs and arrows out until he finds a circular door.
When he opens it he almost gags.
A sewer system.
It took him about ten minutes to make it out and now he has to deal with poo water.
His short stature is not cooperating and his tiny legs ache a little. He feels too close to the disgusting floor.
Stepping out, he makes his way.
It's so gross but he still doesn't bat an eye at the rats and mice that cover the place.
It feels like hours, he's desperately hungry and he thinks he might have blisters on his feet that his body is working overtime to heal with energy he doesn't have.
Finally he sees another circular door similar to the one at the facility, it's up in the ceiling with suspicious stairs leading to it. Peter's seen it in movies, maybe.
He climbs until he's up and uses his arms to lift the door, It's easy enough and he's out.
The afternoon air brings him chills as he makes his way out. There's not many nearby, he can't hear a lot of movements, but that might be how low on energy he is.
He glances up to find a street sign. He doesn’t recognize it but commits it to memory.
He takes a deep breath and goes to the sounds. Someone must be kind enough to help out a kid.
The people there don't look kind. They look heavy and tired. Many seem angry and disgusted. There's a buzz on the back of his head urging him to get out. He knows he should listen but he's out of options.
Peter walks around for a while. Many look at him weirdly, some scoff or laugh. He must make a pitiful picture. Child alone with ratty clothes and gross smell.
He trusts his instincts, avoiding the people his senses tell him are dangerous. It takes a while and his stomach is about to growl when a woman stops him.
His senses say nothing so he waits.
“Go away, kid. This place is not for you.” There's worry in her eyes, as concealed as it is. He doesn't look much different from the other kids he's walked past, maybe she's confused since it's the first time he's out here.
“I'm looking for my Daddy.” He has a feeling she shouldn't be lied to.
“Look harder and out of here.” She gets a cigarette out of nowhere but doesn't light it up. “Where might he be?”
“I have to go to Wayne Manor.” He pauses, gauging her reaction. Shock, perhaps. “Do you know where it is?”
A few seconds of silence is what he's met with. Then, a sudden huge smile and a look of amusement like she's just realized she won the lottery.
“Sure, kid.” She throws her unlit cigarette. “Follow.”
Peter does.
They don't talk on the way. She doesn't ask questions and he doesn't offer his words. The woman is catlike on her walk, one foot in front of the other, her heels clacking with each step. She's sure of herself and takes the lead but matches Peter's pace.
A few minutes later she stops him at a bus stop. It's graffitied and broken in several parts. They sit down, still in silence while letting pass some of the buses which fare no better than the bus stop.
“Those suck.” He breaks the silence.
“It's New Jersey, everything sucks.”
A wave of absolute disgust sorts through him at her words. Of course it's New Jersey.
“New York is better.” He doesn't know what compels him to say that, he doesn't think he's been to New York, but he remembers it as home.
“Gross.” The woman snorts. “Never say that in front of a Gothamite, kid. Not everyone is as nice as I am.”
He smiles and nods, like it makes sense.
Again it’s silent until a bus comes up and the woman signals it.
“Take this one for 10 stops and then ride line 468 for 20.” She rummages through her pockets. “Money for the ticket. Don't make me regret it, kid.”
“Thanks.”
She stares a little, it's intimidating.
“You know the manor is guarded, right? You can't just go up there.”
He blinks at her.
“That won't be a problem.” He'll improvise when he gets there.
“That's funny.” She smirks. “Do tell me how it goes.” She waves goodbye.
Peter doesn't know how to contact her so he doubts it'll happen. Shrugging, he gets on the bus and follows the woman's instructions.
The driver doesn't bat an eye at Peter's presence. He buys the ticket with a smile and sits down next to a window in the far back of the bus.
He's the only one beside the driver.
Peter entertains himself by counting the stops. By number six someone gets in and sits in the front. He keeps counting.
Not long after he thanks for the ride and gets off. Checking the lines at the sign to see if the woman hadn't lied. Once he confirms it he sits down to wait, ignoring the heavy discomfort in his stomach at the lack of food.
The bus stop looks way better than the last one, not as dirty. It's not surprising, manors are often in the better part of town, so it makes sense the city gets cleaner as he gets closer.
It's the same in New York, perhaps. He remembers his home being worse off than the expensive building he used to go to often.
It's of no matter, the memories are far away anyway.
No one bothers him. There's more people at the bus stop yet they still don't wonder or care about him.
The line, the 468, arrives and he gets on with some other people.
It’s a nicer bus. It's a little sad.
The stop times are further this time. It takes a while to get from one to the other.
More people come and go, they pass through more populated areas. Big buildings with more lights.
Peter counts until he needs to go.
By then he's in a less populated area. Rather than buildings there's seemingly infinite landscapes.
Faced with such a view, it downs him that he doesn't know where to go. The woman did not give him directions after the bus rides.
He sighs, thinking what to do. He could leave it to fate and start walking but he doesn't think luck has been on his side lately. Apart from the kind stranger, of course, but he doesn't want to test it.
Glancing around he gathers that the few people out there, while still looking angry and tired, have a more approachable stance. That will have to do.
He taps on the legs of a distracted young woman, she just meets his eyes and ignores him. Maybe their appearance is not as inviting as he has thought.
He tries again with no luck, this time a man dodging his attempt at getting his attention.
Third time’s the charm with an old lady at a store, a bit far from where he initially started.
“Ma'am, do you know where Wayne Manor is? I'm a little lost.” He smiles for good measure.
“What a kind young man, so polite.” She nods with pleasure. “It's a bit far out, maybe five kilometers that way.” Her finger points into the distance.
“Thank you.” He sighs.
He's gone all this way, five kilometers is nothing.
“Be safe, child.” The old woman leaves.
There's a peep on her steps as she walks away. It brings a smile to Peter's face. At least there's some nice people out there. He thinks he's getting a good read on the city. A little sad but very alive. Dangerous for sure with hidden gems from time to time.
All that said, he wonders why he hasn't been mugged yet. He's not naive, he's seen on his way a couple bad deals, a familiar itch to help every time he notices them but knows can't in his current state.
The fear is a new thing, though. It's scary even though he objectively knows he wouldn't be hurt, for whatever reason. It's not big, he's still mostly calm, but the uneasiness it brings him is completely new.
With one last sigh, and newfound need to get out of there, he sets pace towards the manor.
Stomach churning, he really hopes they at least feed him before kicking him out.
The way there is uneventful, just really annoying. And unnecessarily long. His feet hurt, his back aches, all that. But the sight of the big manor at the end of the road is a blessing.
Peter saw several other houses on the way, very hidden and each with a heavy fence surrounding it. He had to bypass a guard and all that rich people have to keep their lives safe or whatever. It was easy enough, just wait until the guy's not looking and be very quiet. He's got practice with that.
He's careful to walk far away from the houses so as to not be noticed. A police call and a ride to the precinct for suspicious activity, and also being an unidentified child, would not be good.
Still he checks the names, none Wayne.
It takes him a while to get to the bigger houses, deserving of the title manor. The first few are no-luck. With the universe so against him as it usually is, the correct house will be the last he sees.
He checks every one of them, nada.
The houses are very separated from each other. While it makes sense, it also makes Peter want to die.
Again.
That's a thought. So he's died before.
He suddenly feels very uncomfortable but pushes it down in favor of continuing walking.
Then, far, far out, he sees it.
It's a manor, alright.
A better building than any of the others, and the last of the lot. Just his luck.
Wayne Manor is impressive. He confirms it's Wayne Manor, and then he's impressed.
Eureka.
As much as before, it's not hard to avoid the cameras, just don't get close if the funny feeling intensifies.
He makes it to the gate and presses the intercom.
Ten minutes later he's being fed.
“Who's Damian?” Peter asks when everyone is back in the kitchen.
“You heard us?” Bruce, his daddy's dad, Peter's grandpa (that's exciting, he doesn't remember having grandparents before), asks.
“Yes, I can hear very well. And I'm strong and fast and sticky.” That's second nature by now.
The adults look stunned for a second before turning their gazes calculating.
“Damian is my other son, he'd be your uncle.” Bruce answers slowly. “Peter, do you have powers?”
“Yes.” He continues eating more of what Mr. Alfred offered.
Now with his stomach full, he can think more properly. He's not fully aware, not that with his brain being six years old at the moment, but he remembers enough. Even as far away as the memories feel.
“How?” Tim asks, curious.
“I don't think I'm supposed to be here, but I can't go back home.” He explains as well as he understands it. “But I woke up and saw a picture of Daddy and now I know he's here, and I missed him before so I took the bus.”
Jason turns to Bruce. “He's talking in riddles.” He sighs. “Do you think magic is involved? Please, no.”
“That's a fast conclusion, we need more–” Tim starts but Peter doesn't want to hear it.
“A wizard got me here, but I think I'm younger. It's weird, I feel weird.” He nods. “Yes, different dimensions, but–” He hums, thinking really hard about how to say it. “--I existed here.”
“You merged?!” Tim exclaims.
“Uh-huh.” He nods fast, munching on a cookie.
“I don't want to call Zatanna.” Bruce murmurs.
“But you should.” Jason says. “So, you woke up here?” He asks with interest.
Peter confirms it and reaches for his backpack.
“I was in a lab, they put me as a failure but I don't feel very failed. I have my powers, I remember how to use them! But they had many pictures there with many failures like me. They even had pictures of Bruce, I remember!” He passes the shocked man the envelope with his data. “I think the me here was a clone, but these are my Daddy and Papa from before, too!” He's proud of how fast he's coming to these conclusions, the food in his system revitalized him.
The other people in the room look ashen as they pass around the papers, though.
“Tim, trace back Peter's steps until you find the lab. Jason, go there immediately, I'll call Cass to head there instead of here. Do a sweep and call me, I'll involve the Justice League if necessary.”
They all start to work immediately, Jason heading out to get a head start and Tim and Bruce walking further into the house.
“Master Bruce.” Mr. Alfred gets his attention. “What shall I do with Master Peter?” The man looks a little guilty for having forgotten the kid.
“Alfred, will you call Dick?”
The older man flashes a look of disappointment. “I shall tell him to come with haste. You will explain.”
The man just nods and gives Peter one last conflicted look. “I will be back soon, Peter.”
He understands.
There's a few beats of silence before Mr. Alfred speaks again.
“How does a bath sound?”
Peter smells himself and sighs.
“Yes, please.”
It hasn't been a good week for Dick.
Benched at his big age by his dad of all people because he broke a few bones.
He's bored out of his mind and can't even go to work because of his injuries (skiing accident, he had said).
His upstairs neighbors don't know what silence is and the Titans aren't answering his messages because of a mission they're currently at (that's the thing, what kind of team leaves without their leader? it doesn't matter he could barely walk).
Wally didn't go so he had hoped maybe he'd help his boredom but the man is busy in his city. Damn superhero friends.
His siblings got tired of entertaining him by the first week and his non siblings are just the same.
Now, at least, after weeks, he can get out and annoy people himself.
He's about to grab his keys and head to the Manor when his phone starts ringing.
“Alfred! I was about to come over.” He flashes a grin even if the man can't see it.
“I was about to call for that very same reason, Master Richard. We have news that involve you.”
“Okay… What news?”
The man stays silent for a few seconds. “Master Bruce will explain.”
Of course that's it. His smile tightens as he grits his teeth.
“Understood.” He knows by now when the summons are to be taken seriously.
He makes it fast to Gotham, even faster to the Manor.
Alfred doesn't welcome him in, Bruce is the one to open the door. The slightly disheveled appearance the man has doesn't help his growing panic.
“B? What's going on? Alfred was being very vague and that's never a good thing.”
“Dick… Well, we had a visitor this evening.” He starts as they enter further into the manor towards the main living room. “We found a lab. Human experimentation, the kind that brought Kon-el to life.”
That's never good. Cloning labs don't have high chances of being ethical or for non-evil purposes. They were lucky that Kon is genuinely a nice guy, Clark's genes having overpowered whatever the hell is wrong with Lex Luthor.
“Not cool, but that doesn't explain the secrecy.” He rolls his eyes, he's getting annoyed.
“Cass and Jason are at the facility right now, it appears to have been abandoned, but the investigation there… The clones they were trying to make, all failures, were of important figures of our world. I will be joining your siblings as it is a matter of the Justice League now, a massive breach of security.”
“You mean, they know our identities?!” Bruce nods. “I'm going, too.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Don't act like that, B, I'm not a kid anymore and I'm fine! Im healed and all good. You can't bench me for something like this.”
He can't believe Bruce would keep him out of the investigation.
“That's not what–”
“It sure as hell looks like it.” Bruce always manages to piss him off, it's outstanding, really.
“I need you here because–”
“No.” He's stubborn like that.
“Richard Grayson! Listen to me, you're staying because–”
“I said–”
“Daddy!” A baby voice jumpscares him into shutting up.
A tiny body collides with him, shocking him even more.
“B, do I have a new brother? You said they were all failures.”
“Master Bruce, did you not tell Master Richard?” Alfred chastises and Bruce winces.
The kid makes grabby motions at Dick he doesn't entertain.
“I was about to–Listen, Dick… Peter came to us with this in his backpack." He passes Dick a stack of papers.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to read.
“He's mine… and Wally’s?”
“There's more.”
“A wizard sent me here and I merged!” The kid says happily. ”And I'm Peter.”
The silence that follows could be cut by a knife.
“I have to go, Dick.”
Dick turns to him with a velocity almost matching Wally’s (his now coparent?).
“I just got the most insane news and you're leaving?”
He at least has the decency to look ashamed.
“I'm not leaving you alone on this, Dick, but our identities and our safety take priority.”
He can't be offended too much, he knows how important it is, but it still stings a little.
“Okay.” He says, finally, now turning to look at the little kid that's his.
Peter is still making grabby motions, this time he obliges.
“Alfred will be with you and I'll be back very soon.”
He doesn't even have the strength to fight the blatant lie.
Bruce leaves and Alfred excuses himself to the kitchen, so much for staying with him.
It's just the two of them, Peter comfortable in his arms.
He doesn't know what to do. He has experience with handling children, but never in the quality of dad. Damian was a close one, but he never actually met his little brother when he was Peter's age.
“Daddy, you sound scared.”
Perceptive kid. “I am.”
“It's okay. I'm scared, too.”
It occurs to him he should be angry at all this, but knowing the kid is just as afraid as he is makes him want to postpone it.
He'll have time to be angry at the people that experimented so unethically with his, Wally’s and Peter's own body.
He'll be angry at Bruce for leaving him alone. At everyone else for not telling him sooner. At Lex Luthor for kickstarting all this.
But never at Peter.
He may be scared shitless. He may have to unpack all he's feeling later. Maybe he'll swallow it all and pretend it's fine and stop pulling his punches as much.
It doesn't matter what he'll do.
He will not once be angry at the little kid that shares so much of him.
And Wally’s.
Holy shit.
At the same moment, in the Allen household, Wally West is busy playing with the twins when he finds himself shuddering.
Bart sends him a confused look.
“Are you okay, Wally?” His uncle Barry asks him.
“Something just happened.”